


The Soldier and the Rhine-Maiden

by DixieDale



Series: The Enchanted Forest [3]
Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-07 21:25:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17373587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: A soldier was likely to end his days on the wrong end of a bullet.  It was just a fact, one the soldier had accepted, if not eagerly, then in the resigned manner of one who knew he was not one destined to have Fate smile upon him.  He just had not expected that bullet to come from a rifle in the hands of a frightened ten year old.  Nor had he expected that bullet to take him down paths he never before imagined.  Paths that, once his footsteps turned to walk them, yielded not dust and stone bruises, but magic and mystery and much, much else.





	The Soldier and the Rhine-Maiden

Corporal Langenscheidt sat sipping his stein of beer, glumly watching his companion's eyes search the room. He knew it. He'd bought her a drink not fifteen minutes ago, and while she'd seemed eager enough to join him at the small round table in the corner, it had only taken ten minutes of attempted conversation before she started looking a little bored. She had no interest in books, it would seem, or in music, or in art, or in anything else he could think of. She had brought no subjects to the table, other than eliciting compliments on her dress and her hair, and while he offered those, there was a limit to how long that could carry a discussion, at least in his mind. 

Maybe it was time he gave up on women, yet again. It wouldn't be the first time; in fact, he wouldn't wager how many times there had been before. Sometimes when he had a hard time getting to sleep, he counted those incidents instead of sheep, but found that made him depressed the next day. Especially when he remembered the ones he'd forgotten to include in his previous tally.

The problem was, as he saw it, was the impossibility of meeting expections. If a girl was plain, she was looking for a man who, if he didn't have good looks, at least had a steady, reliable occupation. If she was pretty, she wanted a man of pleasing looks, hopefully with a bit of money besides. If she was truly beautiful, then she wanted a man with power - for, as one young woman had explained after SHE had perhaps had a bit more to drink than was advisable, power topped money and looks every time, for with power, you could have everything those two commodities could give you plus much more.

Well, he wasn't anything more than plain of face; not even the kindest of observers could say anything different. And being a soldier certainly might be a steady occupation, in these uncertain times, but reliable? Not so much. (Even his former occupation as clerk in a book store hadn't been anything to brag on, and his secret aspiration of someday becoming a writer himself? Best not even to mention that!). Money? No, none other than his very meager paycheck, usually gone within a day or two after he got it, with the cost of things and the many unexpected 'tariffs' being a soldier seemed to carry. And power? That was laughable. And from what he'd seen of those who HAD power, he didn't want it. It seemed to him that having power led to thinking you could hurt other people without reason, without repercussion, and he wanted no part of that.

No, it was probably time to give up on women, once again. He finished his reverie, looked up to find the pretty little blonde had left his table, was even now across the room, seated with a man dressed as if he might be a businessman. He caught her glancing in his direction, saw her say something with a sniff and a sneer, followed by a little laugh, and he wavered between shame and anger.

He signalled for his tab, thought to argue about paying for her drink, since she'd taken it with her to the other man's table, but then shrugged and sighed and pulled his money from his pocket. It wasn't worth getting caught up in a public quarrel and possibly getting demoted again. He'd changed ranks, up and down and back again, almost as many times as he'd sworn off women. Come to think on it, those incidents seemed to coincide more frequently than he'd ever realized before.

He found his luck hadn't improved any when he went looking for Corporal Klein; they'd ridden in together on that motorcycle and sidecar they'd borrowed from the motorpool at camp, but according to the old sots sprawled on the bench outside, Klein and a giggling tart had departed with that ancient vehicle a good ten minutes ago for parts unknown. 

Now he had a choice. He could sit around feeling sorry for himself, waiting for Corporal Klein to hopefully return to give him a ride back to camp, he could go back inside and have another drink and try to convince himself he was enjoying himself, or . . . .

He'd caught sight of the truck lumbering past, and quickly made up his mind and dashed out, waving his hands.

A loud grumbling voice started to give him a good scold.

"And are you mad? Do you WANT to be run over in the street, you fool? Whatever . . . . Oh, it's you. You could find nothing better to do than to stand in front of a moving vehicle, Corporal?"

Upon hearing the stumbling request, the man grumped some more, but then relented, "but I'm not going all the way to the Stalag. I have to get home immediately; I have a sick one I need to attend to. But I can drop you off, if you're willing to walk from the crossroads. Well, come on, climb in if you are going to; I don't have all night!"

At that point, he was most willing, seeing as how he'd been considering walking the entire distance, no matter how nonsensical that idea had been. Still, he just couldn't face walking back into that room and having that pretty little blonde make that face and another snide comment to her new companion.

He'd waved a grateful goodbye at the crossroads, getting only a grumbling "ya, ya, whatever" in return, stood for a moment in the night air getting his bearings. It had only occurred to him after he'd left the truck that he had a gun; he could have insisted Herr Schnitzer take him all the way to the camp. A gun, it gave you power. He flushed a little at that thought, and then gave a bark of self-amusement. No, that wasn't him; he just couldn't see himself pulling a gun on an unarmed man just to bully him into giving him a ride. And knowing old Oscar, the next time they met, the dog handler would set his dogs on him to teach him a good lesson.

He turned his attention to just where he was. If he continued on that way, he would have solid road under his feet all the way, and no chance of losing his way, but it would take him til daylight, easily, to trudge all the way to camp, and he would have to immediately go and take his turn at guard duty with no time for even an hour or two's sleep. Perhaps. . . 

He turned to look into the forest. There was a path there, if he remembered correctly. He could take that, and it would cut almost half, maybe more, off his journey. And it was a pleasant night, full moon shining. Perhaps he would be lucky and the forest would whisper stories to him on the way; it had happened before, after all, when he'd visited here. Yes, he would follow the path through the forest.

 

Olsen, Hogan's 'outside man', had left camp three nights ago, making way for that escapee from another prisoner of war camp, Morgan. He snorted, imagining Schultz's face when he found the bulky Welshman standing in Olsen's place. Even after Hogan had convinced Morgan to shave off that tarantula that Morgan insisted on calling a moustache, only a blind man would ever mistake him for Olsen. Well, you could say that Schultz WAS a blind man, if one willfully blind rather than physically. One whiff of danger, or more likely, apple strudel, and Schultz could be convinced to overlook a rhinoceros in the barracks. He snorted again, this time in amusement, {"Schultz IS a rhinoceros in the barracks!!"}

Three nights, the first spent in hiding, there not being enough time to get to one of his safe spots, the second spent in that little room he rented on a monthly basis from Frau Rheimer's granddaughter Elsa. Elsa had never asked where he was when he was NOT in that little room to the back of her grandmother's house, and her grandmother didn't even know he was there, he was sure. The old woman had moved in with Elsa's mother months before. 

Tonight, he'd thought to spend with Clara, sweet Clara, all tossed black ringlets and pert smile and ripe curves, and had been on his way there when he'd heard the shot. Just one shot, from a small gauge rifle, and while it could be someone out potting a squirrel or a rabbit, still, it somehow caught his attention more than usual. Against his better judgement he turned and looked into the forest, toward the direction of that sound, and found his feet had already started before his mind had caught up.

The sight of the small pond with its water glistening black in the moonlight made him give out a groan; this particular spot was decidedly odd, and it both worried him and drew him in equal measures.

He saw the body on the path, and the small figure standing over it, rifle in hand. "I didn't mean to do it, I swear. I stumbled and the rifle went off, and he fell." He didn't know the boy's name, had seen him in the company of Oscar Schnitzer a time or two, but never knew the connection. Olsen came forward, looked down. Something about that body seemed familiar, and he reached down to turn the limp figure face-up. 

{"Hell! It's Langenscheidt! Couldn't have been one of those two new bully-boys the Colonel's trying to get transferred out; no, it's got to be one of the good ones."} 

Quickly kneeling down, he checked, and was relieved to find a strong pulse. There was enough moonlight for him to see the bullet crease along the side of the soldier's skull, blood streaming black and steady.

Quickly he comforted the small boy. "I know you didn't mean it, it was an accident. But it's best you go home now, don't say anything to anyone about this. Go!" and the child took off running.

Olsen looked down at the figure at his knees, whispering to himself, "okay, Karl, now what do I do with you?" The thought occurred to him that he could just walk away, maybe get somewhere with a telephone and deliver an anonymous message to summon help. He'd even gotten to his feet to do just that, when he heard that low moan, and the hesitant voice, "who are you? Please, I cannot see you. Who are you? Don't leave me, please." 

The air was still, all sound ceasing, as if waiting for Olsen to make a decision, which was a very foolish idea, possibly caused by the brightness of the moonlight through the trees, perhaps caused by the proximity to that dark pool. What decision could there possibly be? Langenscheidt KNEW Olsen, though perhaps not well; there was no way he wouldn't recognize him once he totally came to, once the bright moonlight illuminated his face just right. No, he had to leave. Didn't he? Still, so still, the very air trembled, waiting for him to make up his mind.

And he knew, as foolish as it was, he couldn't just leave, and with that thought, the night sounds returned, the call of the owl, the skittering of the small creatures in the underbrush.

"Alright, Karl," he sighed, "lay still, let me take a look," keeping his voice as low as he could, scarcely a whisper, knowing how sound carried in the forest, especially at night.

Cleaning the wound with water from the pool of water near where the soldier had fallen had made things easier to see, at least for Olsen. For Langenscheidt, it wasn't that simple. His vision was only now slowly returning, and still hazed and with images overlaid one atop the other. 

He found he was content enough, though, except for the mother and father of all headaches, for somehow he had been found by a creature of magic, perhaps one of those who dwelt only within the bounds of the enchanted forest, perhaps within that pond itself. A being perhaps akin to the Rhine-maidens, he decided, from what little his troubled eyes could make out.

A smile came to his lips at what he COULD see, though. Dark hair cut short to cup around that well-shaped head, a gamine face, shining intelligent eyes, a pert nose. A voice, soft and gentle and tender, a voice that knew his name, miraculously, which surely HAD to be magic, for he knew he had never been so blessed as to meet this wonderful creature before. And hands as gentle and tender as that voice, so carefully tending his wound, bringing him ease. He hadn't spoken, himself, except to answer the one or two questions that had been put to him, never dared to address his rescuer directly otherwise. He listened, in sadness, as he was told, "I'll send help; don't try to move, someone will be here before too long." He sorrowed at the thought of her leaving, at the thought of never seeing her again.

Karl never knew what gave him the courage to do what he did next, but when that face bent down so close once again, dabbing the last of the water from his face, he turned his head just enough to place a light kiss on those curved lips. 

A quick started gasp brought him to his senses, made him realize his actions were not acceptable. Truly, he had meant no insult, but still . . .

The flushed face of the German soldier became even more flushed as he hurried to apologize. "I am sorry. I should not have been so bold. It is just . . . ". 

"Just what?" and that voice was still low, but strained almost to the breaking point.

And the reply was barely more than a whisper, "I have never seen such a beautiful fraulein as you before. Nor one so kind, and with a voice so soft and gentle, and with the touch of an angel."

The figure hovering over him seemed struck speechless at that declaration. {"Bold's hardly the word for it! And 'fraulein'?? I know his eyesight is still blurry, but 'fraulein'??"}

"Please, will you meet me again? Here, in the forest, beside the pool, in this place of magic? You could leave me a sign, send word, and I would know to come? Please?" The face of the soldier, plain, beak-nosed, with little to recommend it, was eager and shy and hopeful, oh, so many things all in one.

The listener's first response was anger mixed with indignation, before the amusement at the sheer absurdity of the situation struck him, and then the frustration at the utter stupidity of it all sank in. But somehow, the response given wasn't anything like that, was nothing like what Olsen had heard his mind telling him to say. {"Somehow I had in mind something more along the lines of 'Hell, NO! Are you nuts???'"}. Instead, there came a hesitant "perhaps. I'll think about it. I'll send word if I decide the answer is 'yes'."

And if that answer was stupid and dangerous, the next action taken by Colin Olsen, only son of Lars and Elizabeth Olsen, only brother to a brood of five beautiful sisters, always-grateful but ever-flitting-onward lover to any number of lovely women, was even more so. A gentle kiss dropped first onto a worried forehead, then, after a slight hesitation, an even lighter one to those waiting lips, before he rose and walked quickly away.

Karl was well enough now he could safely be left alone, at least til Olsen got word out for someone to come rescue him. Still, it wasn't easy walking away, but Karl's vision was rapidly clearing, as proven by him having being able to see Olsen at all. Olsen couldn't risk waiting til the soldier's vision cleared entirely, until he could see just how big of a mistake he'd made.

{"I might as well just shoot myself right now, because if the Germans don't, Colonel Hogan sure as hell will!"} he thought as he left the clearing beside that magic pool. Yet, a germ of an idea had formed, something that might aid in the war effort AND make this new friendship more feasible. {"And why the hell is that even tempting?? It makes no sense at all! What the heck could a friendship with a German soldier, especially one stationed at the camp, offer that I'd do anything this dumb??!"}

Still, he was pretty sure Clara would find it an amusing project, would be willing to help, possibly Elsa and Gerta as well. Maybe he could put off getting shot for awhile longer, long enough to explore the possibilities. Maybe . . .

His eyes turned back toward the clearing, now out of sight, and found himself smiling. {"Maybe, just maybe. I wonder how I should word that note. And what name shall I use to sign it?"}

 

The bandage had been removed from his head, much to his relief, leaving only an ugly mark showing where the bullet had creased him. He hadn't liked getting shot, but when he considered the situation, he had to admit he had come out far the winner. After all, he had a new story to tell, about a Rhine-maiden and an enchanted pool in an enchanted forest, though he was careful not to make the story such that would have his listeners trying to find that pool, that beautiful maiden.

And perhaps, just perhaps, he had a new friend, though the blush that touched his cheeks when he had that thought would have made you wonder if that was the word he really meant. A new friend, though, possibly, if that note he'd received spoke true. Of course, there had been few words, nothing that would have told any casual reader much at all. But to him, there were words upon words, words not written, but still hovering in the air.

"Karl. Yes, if you like. If you can. On the new moon. Oliphisia"

{"The new moon, two nights from now. Sergeant Schultz owes me a favor; surely he will allow me a few hours away from camp."}


End file.
